


We Live In Shady Woods

by je_t_oublie



Series: The Literary Discussions of Julian Bashir and Elim Garak [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Classical allusions, Literary discussion on a ridiculous level, M/M, Pre-Slash, made up Cardassian culture aspects, the aeneid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 09:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15815922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/je_t_oublie/pseuds/je_t_oublie
Summary: An excuse for more literary discussion in the quiet moments between the weekly disasters on Deep Space Nine. Today's lunch accompanied by Virgil's Aeneid.





	We Live In Shady Woods

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes (including the title) are taken lovingly from W.F. Jackson Knight's translation of the Aeneid, and it's likely obvious this is the first thing I've finished in the last five years which is not an essay.

The muted rattle of a padd being deposited next to his lunch was the only warning sign before a tray was carefully settled across from him. Raising his head with a smile and a greeting already on his tongue, Julian Bashir was halted by an admonishing eyeridge raised, and a grey and scaled hand firmly requesting his peace.

“ ‘Fated to be an exile.” Really Doctor, I hope you did not choose this only on the basis of a single shared characteristic between the title character and I. It is hardly otherwise a representation of your ancient civilization that you would want widely advertised. “  
Garak slid into the spartan replimat seat opposite Bashir, and soundlessly laid his cutlery between his plate and mug, tucked his napkin into his collar and looked up for the expected riposte in their game.

The “Good afternoon, Mr. Garak,” was pointed, and slightly drawled in exaggerated British politeness but Garak briskly waved away the niceties expected in preference for an answer. 

“My dear, I have been waiting with baited breath to find out the relevance of this work to our discussions of our respective culture’s literature.”

Bashir leant back in his chair and took a long sip from his glass, drawing out his pause in a petty revenge for the last enigma tale he had been so confused by that he had entertained a brief consideration of plotting a flowchart before calculating the likelihood of Garak discovering it in his quarters and the inevitable good-natured teasing and corrective footnotes that would ensue. At Garak’s insistent stare, Bashir relented and leant forward to explain over the noise caused by the bustle of lunch hour at the replimat. “The Aeneid draws from the most ancient examples of the epic but with the importance of a founding myth for one of the largest and most enduring empires of early civilised Earth – I thought you would appreciate the Cardassianness of it all. Aeneas was a new type of hero at the time, and required to sacrifice everything for a new nation for his displaced people that he wouldn’t even get the chance to see.” 

“You consider him a hero, Doctor? As if his constant ‘oh woe is me, if only I had died honourably at Troy,’ attitude would in any way benefit his goal.” Garak flung himself back in his chair, a hand on his forehead as if about to swoon, a portrait of the overdramatic hero from old holos, and betrayed only by glinting eyes still directed at his lunch companion. At the answering huff of exasperation and amusement, he returned to leaning in and picking up his fork for the assault. “He is almost as an insipid titular character as Macbeth.”

“You're trying to distract me – they’re not even close to comparable and you’re well aware of that. Aeneas may need some prodding, but he still leaves a possible future of happiness with the woman he loves-“  
“You cannot possibly mean Dido? Did you learn nothing of the lesson taught by the Never Ending Sacrifice? Aeneas' duty lies elsewhere as he is repetitively told, and while Dido may be a loss for Carthage and of a possible useful alliance, he should not have been so weak to allow the distraction to happen anyway. That he has to be told by some kind of divine entity to do what he already knows is necessary has no heroic cast about it.”  
“But the evocative image of her death, the bridal bed atop the pyre and with her abandoning lover’s sword. ‘For since she perished neither by destiny nor by a death deserved, but tragically, before her day, in the mad heat of passion.’ “  
Food abandoned, Bashir had nudged his meal aside to gesticulate Dido’s passion without the danger of unintentionally putting his elbows anywhere unfortunate, his voice taking on a impassioned enunciation the ancient words demanded.

“It's the people left behind by the dedication to an ideal, Garak, whether it is the greater Cardassian Union, or individual tragedies of Aeneas.”  
Halting the flow of words, Garak lay a calming hand on the flung out forearm, a thin smile curling his lips at the brief flare of warmth to bask in alongside the heated words before he was obliged to douse them.

“My dear, behind your Federation optimism, you of all people should understand the need for sacrifice even for the individual. It is as littered throughout your species history almost as much as your literature.”  
Bashir slumped back in his chair, eyes still heated and arm remaining beneath the gentle pressure of Garak's chilled fingers. As a peace offering (a necessary sacrifice of information for the continuation of his only requited relationship left, an insidious voice of a Cardassian upbringing whispered) he decided to offer up a part he had found intriguing in the otherwise flowery prose. Bashir had pulled his lunch back towards him, and was picking at it what was left before his afternoon shift began.

“I did appreciate the stating of family lines, however dubious it may be that they were truly related to the mythical beings that they claimed. How common was this? How distant is your ancestry to Asclepius?”  
“Yes, well. Terran cultures have moved on since then, obviously. Virgil was writing only a few hundred years after the first written recording of the Iliad. In that time, it was a way of legitimising one’s family, and their status in politics or military.”  
“Ah, much like a Cardassian practice - próso̱po. Upon meeting someone of possible alliance, it would be customary to state parentage, class and the region originated from. It serves as a way to imply prior allegiances as well as explore possible limitations to who one can make new allegiances with depending on class restriction.”  
“You’re forgetting the fealty to the State implied by linking yourself so closely to the land.”  
“Oh my dear Doctor, that should be implied in all actions made by a Cardassian. All actions a dedicated citizen makes is in order to aid the Union, and quite rightly.”  
He was leaning forward again, slight forgotten with the possibility of learning more about Garak's past, and a cultural practice unmentioned in the books he had been giving to Bashir so far.  
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me the truth if I asked for your próso̱po?"  
“Are you dishonouring our years of sharing lunches and literature by saying we do not already have an alliance? I am shocked, betrayed even. Such wounding words from a doctor, no less. Do they come with a visit to your infirmary for treatment?” 

Eyes alight with humour, Julian raised his free hand in pacifying surrender. “Okay, okay Garak. I knew it was a weak attempt but you don’t have to laugh at me about it. And I do have to get back, but don’t think you’re getting out of this. We haven’t even discussed the treatment of the Underworld.”  
Garak gently slid his hand of Bashir's arm, attempting to maintain a pretence it had never been there. It had been a useful and accurate tell of Bashir’s passion in their arguments, pulse leaping with his voice, but the warmth had made him reluctant to pull away. He busied his hands packing away his tray and smiled up at Bashir. “I had meant to bring up their concept of an afterlife. It is without a comparison in modern Cardassia, but perhaps in the Hebetian culture.” He stood at the same time as the Doctor, and bowed his head slightly.  
“Next week?”  
“I shall look forward to it.” Bashir reached out and laid a hand on his forearm in the position Garak had taken advantage of at the table, but only phantom warmth passed through the thick cloth of his tunic.  
“ ‘No one has a fixed home. We live in shady woods and lie here on soft river-banks.’ “ He smiled disarmingly, squeezed Garak’s arm and set off towards the infirmary, longs limbs loping until he was quickly out of sight and Garak had the ability to draw breath again. Well damn.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of próso̱po is based on the Maori mihi that we were taught at primary school. In our child version, we listed the mountain, river and city we were born closest to, as well as our siblings and parents. In no way am I implying that the mihi is used for the same reason as the Cardassians.  
> For more information: https://www.otago.ac.nz/maori/world/te-reo-maori/mihi-introductions/index.html  
> It's name is just the Greek word for face, as I am terribly unimaginative. 
> 
> It was a pleasure writing my first ever DS9 story, and that y'all are still so active in something that came out when I was a kid.


End file.
